


The blue-eyed boy to make him alive

by Mother_North



Series: Heartache [8]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst and Porn, Emotional, Feels, Flashbacks, Hopeful Ending, M/M, NHK Trophy 2019, Post-Relationship, Psychology, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, past yuzuvier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: …Maybe there’s still a place in his heart for the blue-eyed boy, maybe there’s still a possibility that he could learn how to love anew.
Relationships: Javier Fernández/Yuzuru Hanyu, Yuzuru Hanyu/Roman Sadovsky
Series: Heartache [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090485
Comments: 13
Kudos: 60





	The blue-eyed boy to make him alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karenkk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karenkk/gifts).



> Timeline: NHK Trophy 2019. 
> 
> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

**

Fingers of a blue-eyed young man seem scorching on his hip, their warmth seeping through the velvety fabric of his black costume pants. Yuzuru looks up and beams at the bronze medalist, his smile – a cutting ray of sunshine, his translucent skin glowing. Javi used to tell him that he was the most beautiful in the aftermath of a victory: all euphoria and adrenaline-induced fidgetiness, his guard down in the rarest of moments of disarming frankness. Olive wreath is decorating his fair brow, tight costume hugging godlike bodylines of his slim figure – butterflies caught amongst rose petals of royal purple (willingly trapped in the allure of his splendor) and rhinestones of shimmering gold scattered across the dark fabric.

Relief is washing over Yuzuru in blissful waves, as he is standing at the top of the podium, applause and wild cheers echoing in his ears, heart thumping against his ribcage. He has conquered his fear, he has survived the cruelest battle with his inner demons that used to torture him at nighttime, his breathing shallow, sweat-drenched bedsheets clinging to his naked body – caging him in, burying alive in the repetitiveness of his nightmares, in which he dreamt of falling.

The ultimate fall, threatening to end his competitive career, threatening to end _him_.

_“Wake up, Yuzu,” Javier’s breath tickled the sensitive skin of his neck, as his arms were hugging his fragile form protectively. He was trembling violently, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He opened his mouth trying to inhale, suffocating despair closing around his windpipe in a vice-like grip._

_“Shh…it’s ok! Everything is going to be fine, Yuzu…everything is going to be fine…believe me,” Javi’s hoarse whispers soothed his agitated mind; a deceptive lullaby of utmost affection._

_“Do you still need me?” Yuzuru’s fingers were digging into Javi’s strong shoulders, squeezing, anchoring him into a reality where only the two of them existed._

_Javi’s answer bruised his lips, a kiss of fiery passion and of a silent promise of never letting go. Yuzuru used to drown in their proximity, their bodies speaking instead of thousand words of futile professions of eternal loyalty._

_Some things are better left unsaid._

_“Always,” Javi chanted, as he was thrusting rhythmically deep inside of him, his musky scent in Yuzuru’s nostrils, the fullness both overwhelming and seemingly not enough. The craving for the man scared Yuzuru, the intensity of his own need making him feel weak and vulnerable. Still, he opened up every single time, legs spread obscenely wide, eager to be ruined and taken apart completely; deep scratches on the sweaty skin of Javier’s back – a testimony to the ferocity of his desire._

Alas, soul wounds turned out to be deeper and harder to heal than he could have ever fathomed before.

Yuzuru blinks distractedly, a bitter lump forming in his throat, as he begins to _laugh and laugh and laugh_ ; burning on the inside to only shine on the outside twice as brightly.

He is keenly aware of the young man’s adoring gazes and bashful smiles, of his long eye-lashes and of a cute blush rising up his neck and cheeks.

_Roman._

The lad’s name feels alien; it is foreign on his tongue as he is pronouncing it to himself.

In comparison to _Javier_ – it is one letter not enough; in comparison to _Javi_ – it is one letter too many.

Yuzuru gulps convulsively, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Countless flashes of cameras, numerous blurred faces and colorful banners at the stands, deafening cheers and ecstatic frenzy of the audience; they are waving at him and he is waving back. The world seems to be closing in and he is feeling suspended in space, frozen in this moment of triumph, yet at the same time, deep down inside something is off.

He keeps on asking himself whether he has truly done enough. Could he have done more, given more..?

They seem to be insatiable, always wanting more. It’s never enough for them.

**_I am_ ** _never enough for them, exactly the way I used to be never enough for you._

_“Don’t let them have the whole of you. Sometimes you are giving too much and it frightens me. ” Javi’s unexpected confession made Yuzuru look him straight in the eye, caught off guard._

_“Leave a piece for yourself…please.” Javier brought Yuzuru’s elegant fingers to his kiss-swollen lips, peppering them with reverent kisses._

Yuzuru smiles bitterly at the remembrances and there’s an overpowering urge _to run_ mounting in him with each passing minute. He desperately wants to get away – get away from the crowds and journalists swarming around him, waiting for a misstep, provoking and unforgiving. He is trapped in this _seemingly_ ideal world of everyone’s expectations, his 9 year-old self being his harshest critic and tormentor. Yuzuru wonders when the fear of a failure settled in his soul, at what particular moment of time its poisonous roots clenched his heart.

The exacerbation must have happened as a consequence of Saitama: him beginning to chase phantoms of his own mind, his belief in himself shaken, failures real and imagined puncturing his confidence.

_“You are so unbelievably strong, Yuzu! So strong!” Javier breathed out, his nose buried in Yuzuru’s silky hair, as he was inhaling his flowery scent._

_“No, I am not!” he retorts stubbornly, voice cracked with emotion, for he has indeed never felt weaker._

_“Oh, but you are…you really are…” There’s a reassurance in the calmness of Javier’s tone and deep down Yuzuru believes._

_He has to._

Yuzuru trails to his hotel room well past midnight, after all of the interviews are finally done. Bone-crushing tiredness is mingling with the post-competition high and adrenaline is circling in his bloodstream, making it hard to just close your eyes and lie still. He catches himself thinking of his past lover again, his thoughts returning to a certain man at the other end of the world, thousands of kilometers separating them not an obstacle for his yearning.

_Is he caressing her now? Is he making love to her? Has he learnt to not think of him anymore? Has he forgotten about him completely?_

Yuzuru is unable to break a vicious circle of thoughts in his head. His bed is deadly cold and at such moments of gut-wrenching loneliness he feels extremely vulnerable.

Ice is the only constant in his life, his most loyal companion. Yuzuru loves it dearly, he declares his love with each stroke of his black blades; he tastes it – algid water in sharp contrast against his hot lips. Yuzuru thinks of all those times when it seemed as if there’s only an expanse of pristine ice and him in the entire universe, his consciousness zoning in, unparalleled sensation of freedom spreading its wings behind his back. Yuzuru bowed down, touched its surface in gratefulness, his heart full to the brim with a special kind of love for the seemingly extension of his own self – _the ice_.

_“Thank you,” he whispered, its surface smooth and cold and reassuringly immutable beneath his fingertips._

_“There’s you and me…forever.”_

There’s a tentative knock at the door of his hotel room and it makes Yuzuru nearly jump out of his skin.

The blue-eyed boy is afraid to look him in the eye, his moist lips bitten raw. Yuzuru in his turn is staring at him, wide-eyed and mildly confused. His heart is beating somewhere in his throat – from the sheer audacity and heady anticipation, from the heat of arousal that is starting to coil at the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden, Yuzuru becomes keenly aware of a frighteningly intense desire to feel the warmth of a human body once again, to simply let go for a while and let carnality sweep over his entire being.

“Come in,” he says and Roman takes a step inside.

He is like docile wax in Yuzuru’s demanding hands, chest heaving and eyes half-lidded, as he throws his head back and groans. Yuzuru is on top, his lithe body wriggling against the heated naked flesh. He is squeezing his eyes shut – the taste of sweat on his tongue is _different_ , the timbre of a moaning voice is _different_ , the scent of skin is _different_ as well…

“Please,” he hears desperation in Roman’s tone. “I want you so much…have always been wanting you… for so long…please…oh, god…”

They are kissing sloppily, savagely even – all tongues and teeth and _raw need_ , when Roman suddenly bites down at Yuzuru’s lower lip hard, making him hiss.

The next moment, Yuzuru finds himself face-first into the pillow, an anticipatory shudder running through his entire body. He can’t stop himself from crying out loud, at the sensation of a wet hot tongue probing at him, seeking entrance, making him lose his mind from the onslaught of a long forgotten visceral pleasure.

Yuzuru is moving his hips jerkingly, unrefined and wild in his want, meeting the intrusive tongue and he is so hard it _aches_ , pre-cum dripping on the silky bedsheets.

It’s _almost_ too much.

“Fuck me,” he keens.

After an embarrassingly short period of time he is reduced to begging, his voice breaking. Choked pleas are leaving his mouth thoughtlessly, as he craves to be ravished with each cell of his being, shaken to the core by a mind-numbing wave of lust.

“But…but I may hurt you…need the lube and…” The blue-eyed boy sounds equally mortified and beside himself with desire.

Yuzuru growls impatiently, wrapping his lips around Roman’s long fingers to coat them with his own saliva. He is well past caring about propriety, the point of no return now left behind.

He welcomes the pain of the burning stretch, aroused beyond belief, starting to impale himself on the three slender digits shamelessly; it is both _liberating_ and _dirty_ , his head swimming from the intensity of sensations.

“Fill me…make me yours…mark me…” Yuzuru doesn’t care whether Roman understands what he is saying, he doesn’t register if he is speaking in Japanese or in English, words spilling from his mouth intermingled with wanton moans.

Yuzuru is squeezing his eyes shut, exhaling sharply, as the initial pain of penetration momentarily blinds him. Roman’s broad palms are on his hips, soothing, his thumbs drawing invisible circular patterns on his skin, as he stills inside for several torturously long minutes to let Yuzuru’s body adjust.

“Move,” Yuzuru commands.

His head is hanging low and he is on his knees and elbows, back arched beautifully; he aches for Roman to start moving and when he finally does – thrusting his hips experimentally at first and then finding a perfect angle – Yuzuru nothing but wails.

Exquisite pain is mixing with agonizing delight, his mind becoming foggy. Yuzuru is dazed, so full and so _alive_ , his own hoarse cries ringing in his ears. He can taste his salty tears on his upper lip, as he is getting fucked into oblivion, bed creaking and his throat raw from screaming.

Roman comes inside, not pulling out, until the final aftershock of his powerful orgasm subsides.

Afterwards, they are lying close – heaving and sweaty, their bodies intertwined. Roman is spooning Yuzuru from behind, strands of moist dark hair tickling the tip of his nose. Yuzuru can feel his heartbeat against his naked back, his erratic breathing scorching, as the blue-eyed boy quietly whispers:

“I think I love you.”

_Te amo, cariño_ _._

The phrase in Spanish echoes in Yuzuru’s empty mind, piercing him like a katana sword and he shudders involuntarily, not knowing what to respond, all words dying in his constricting throat.

A deep sigh escapes Yuzuru and he twines his delicate fingers with Roman’s.

_Maybe…_

Maybe there’s still a place in his heart for the blue-eyed boy, maybe there’s still a possibility that he could learn how to love anew.

**


End file.
